


Fantasy

by cptraydorsgf



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptraydorsgf/pseuds/cptraydorsgf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fanfiction about Mary McDonnell and Kyra Sedgwick from "The Closer."   Includes masturbation and dirtytalking!Kyra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> RPF is kind of wrong, but it isn't the worst thing I've ever done.

Mary runs her fingers through her increasingly long auburn hair, fluffing it unnecessarily. Her hairstyle was a major point of contention with the writers and creative staff on “The Closer.” She almost laughs to herself because it would be her hair that caused a series of rifts and disagreements. Not her age, not her schedule requests, worked around her childrens’ lives, but her much adored raven locks. The producers had originally wanted Sharon Raydor to wear her hair pulled off her face constantly in military style buns or tight severe ponytails. But Mary had insisted that despite her coldness and the walls she erected around herself, Sharon was a complex woman with a softer part to her. And a little bit of attractiveness would only add to her affect. She had been right of course, as she usually was. Not only did the fangirls love her tresses freely styled, but Raydor’s femininity had become something the powers that be were playing around with, especially in counterpoint to Brenda’s own feminine strength. It was that dynamic Mary loved playing with Kyra, a woman as strong as herself, and of course it didn’t hurt her ego to flaunt her appearance a bit while approaching her sixtieth birthday. And despite their initial reservations, a mildly feminized and sexualized Raydor was proving to be very popular with everyone. Especially with Kyra, who insisted that part of Raydor being a strong, powerful woman was being disarmingly attractive. In fact, it was Kyra herself who insisted that the third button of her shirts come undone and the pinstriped slacks became an above the knee pinstripe skirt. And everybody who knows what’s good for them on set knows to do what Kyra says and not ask questions. A little smirk plays around the corners of Mary’s brightly lipsticked mouth. In typical Brenda fashion, Kyra had gestured with her hand in the general direction of whomever it was she had been ordering around at the moment and explained casually, “The thing about Raydor that we want everybody to get, of course, is that she’s the ice bitch of FID. Cold, unapproachable, self protective. But then you get close to her and she comes to trust you and just blossoms into this extremely intelligent, loyal ally. She’s got a soft center under all that rigidity.” Whomever’s expression had remained doubtful, so Kyra had huffed at having to explain herself further. “Look, this woman goes toe to toe with the worst of the worst corrupt cops and she doesn’t flinch. Then she goes home and slips into her silk La Perla nightgown and has a glass of wine. Everybody hates and distrusts her at work, but she has this vast network of friends and family and loved ones outside the department who she would do anything for.” At the time, Mary could have sworn Kyra’s faux Georgia accent was soaking through some of her verbs. “She’s bossy and controlling and demanding and in her personal life that obsession just translates into this buttoned down exterior hiding this wild side that takes pole dancing classes and seduces younger lovers and walks around her house naked and doesn’t care if the neighbors see.” And, oh. Mary is struck dumb at that because yes. That was exactly her vision for Raydor, exactly what she envisioned when she constructed an unofficial character bio in her head and Kyra articulated it just so that she is kind of in awe of the younger woman. And then everybody else must be looking at Kyra somewhat like she is, because she throws her hands up and then actually says “Oh, for heavens sake. Just give Mary a skirt to wear and show a little cleavage. Honestly.” And then she storms off to do whatever it is that she does and twenty minutes later Mary is standing in front of Tony in a skirt well above her knee, glossy hair tumbling down over her shoulders.  
Kyra finds her later, almost as an afterthought Mary thinks, to just confirm with her that where she’s going with Mary’s character is okay with her. And Mary wants to laugh because she’s already shot several scenes with skirts and lipstick and only slightly this side of suggestive poses and even if she did have objections it would be too late now. But Mary sees that Kyra is sincerely trying to be respectful of her creative autonomy and she appreciates the gesture. She thinks about telling Kyra that she sees Raydor the exact same way and is excited to explore the character on the same level that Kyra clearly is, but instead just says that she likes the statement it makes to have this powerful, in charge woman embrace the feminine, sexy part of herself and incorporate it into the rest of her identity. Kyra nods emphatically.  
“But I do just want you to know, though,” she interjects. “I’m not plannin’ on turnin’ her into some sort of sexbomb, either.” And it’s a testament to how many hours Kyra has spent on the set that day that she is dropping the “g’s” from the end of her words. And saying words like “sexbomb”. “Don’t expect to read a sex scene between Raydor and Gabriel on Brenda’s desk or anythin’ like that.” And Mary laughs genuinely because of course Kyra would just go there and say something like that straight to her face in all seriousness.  
And sure enough, Kyra was right about Raydor. Shortly after the change of direction and the “scene” Mary caused in hair the first day, fanfiction starts creeping up around the internet about Raydor. And then about Raydor and Flynn. And then about Raydor and Brenda. And then more and more about Raydor and Brenda until they have amassed quite a femslash following, if she does say so herself. True to her word, she doesn’t read any of it, at least not while she’s currently working with a character, but she absolutely knows it’s there and how much of it there is. She would deny it under oath, but she googles herself from time to time. Just to keep on top of things, of course.  
She is made a series regular pretty quickly and she is genuinely thrilled about it. She loves the cast and crew, loves working at home in Los Angeles and has grown quite attached to Sharon Raydor. Not quite as attached as she ended up being to Laura Roslin, but maybe with more time she would get there. But of course then she has to, according to whomever it was that sent her agent that absurd first, second and third email regarding the interview she gave, open her big mouth. She hadn’t even thought of it when she explained that she didn’t think Sharon Raydor had been a victim of domestic violence, in regards of course to the episode about Ally Moore. Whomever it had been had huffed and blustered about how maybe they hadn’t addressed it since yet, but they had been considering turning it into a little plot bunny about why Raydor joined I.A. Something along the lines of her seeing the necessity of the division after receiving help from them to escape her own abusive ex husband of a detective. And that had infuriated her, maybe more than it should have because it was just so, just so…stapled. And typical. Not creative at all and quite absurd, of course, given the fact that Sharon just wasn’t abused by anybody ever. At least not more than once because Sharon Raydor of all people just would not allow such a crime to go unreported or undealt with because she just couldn’t. And she would have probably taken note of the specific time, to the minute, her husband had dared to raise his hand to her, so she could note it in her perfectly detailed report that she would have dropped off at I.A. herself well within the time window. She would have followed the rules because she just couldn’t not. Clearly. Besides which, Raydor didn’t become a cop first and then decide I.A. she had clearly been recruited specifically for internal affairs during her final year of law school. And she had joined the police academy just after taking the bar obviously. In an uncharacteristic moment of petulance, Mary had seriously considered calling that fool and demanding to know if Kyra knew just what he thought he was planning on doing with Raydor and her storyline and what Kyra thought of this stapled overdone little storyline, but she had resisted the urge. But sure enough, Kyra had breezed into her trailer Monday morning after a cursory knock to assure her she was aware of the little…miscommunication. And to assure Mary that something so quite obviously ridiculous and out of character would not be found anywhere in any script about Raydor and not to worry. And if all of this was weird, it didn’t occur to Mary. She just felt an overwhelming sense of odd satisfaction that she and Kyra were clearly so similarly inclined regarding her character and her story. As well as the flush of excitement that came from fleshing out a character she had come to care for. And if this was weird, well, Mary didn’t acknowledge it either.  
Today was just one of those days on set that actors live for. The script was brilliant, everybody was at the best of their best, scenes were getting knocked out like it was no big thing, all the equipment was functioning and Kyra was in rare form, even for her. Crying hurt, betrayed tears on command and then laughing joyously the next scene just before laying verbal waste to a suspect in a three walled interrogation room. Take 1: nailed it. Slipping in and out of her Southern accent like she didn’t have to work at it and buying everybody Starbucks when they broke for lunch. Mary was well aware she was watching a master at work and watching Kyra lead this dynamite cast through a script frought with crime, emotional upheaval and intense character development made her blood thrum in excitement through her veins. And when it came time for Sharon Raydor to emphatically insist that Brenda “get her own attorney,” Mary is itching to get on set and show some of Raydor’s emotion. She is practically aching to step up to Kyra’s passion and performance and match it with her own skill. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, hers shoes are an inch too high and her blazer is tight around her curves. Kyra’s blonde hair is whipping around her face and her brown eyes are flashing. Their words are sharp and clipped and then soft, vulnerable. Their characters communicate through body language and Mary feels Kyra shifting her form to respond to the tone she is setting. It’s almost heady enough to make her forget her lines.  
They re-shoot the scene thirty seven times before everybody is too fed up to continue. As the director keeps informing them, it just doesn’t work. Mary has noticed. Raydor is too cold and then she is too emotional, then she is too emphatic. She is too stiff and then she is too fluid. She’s too precise and then she’s too cruel. She’s too angry, then she’s too emotionless. Mary’s sentiments exactly. Brenda is too angry, she’s too all over the place. Then she’s too shut down, then she’s too soft. She’s too vulnerable and then she’s not human enough. She’s too expressive or she’s too unreadable. Her accent is too heavy or it’s not heavy enough. She’s too trusting, then she’s too defensive. If the grim set of Kyra’s mouth and the frustration in every line of her body is any indication, she agrees with the assessment. And Mary feels absolutely terrible because she’s pretty positive that this is all her fault. At her request, she had watched several takes on the monitor and studied the way she interacted with Brenda. She looked, there was no other way to say it, hungry. Whether her words are clipped and angry or soft and powerful, Raydor looks like she is going to stop in the middle of one of her sentences and press Brenda against the bloodstained wall and kiss her senseless. Mary looks like this. Graciously, nobody mentions this issue in front of Kyra, but when Mary overcompensates and tries to quell the expression of desire on Raydor’s face, she is too cold, emotionless, and uncompassionate. After the first ten takes, Kyra just looks stilted, like there is a wall up between her and what she is doing.  
Mary has absolutely no idea when her respect and admiration for Kyra turned into…this. It’s sexual attraction, but more than that. It’s heavy and lusty and thick in her veins. At first it wasn’t that too concerning; Mary has been attracted to a lot of people in her fifty nine years; men and women, older and younger than herself and her fantasy life has always been, perhaps because of what she does for a living, rich and fulfilling. Some of these fantasies she has even shared with her husband, livening up a decades old sexual relationship with something new and fun. He was never threatened because he knew she would never cheat and after all, he was the one who reaped the benefits of her desires, in their bed. So when Mary started noticing Kyra’s full pouty lips and wondering what they would feel like trailing over her skin, she wasn’t particularly bothered. And when she would study the younger woman’s incredible body and marvel at the full firmness of her ample breasts, she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Even when she wondered if her nipples were dark pink or the pale peach of her lips, she felt no guilt. When Mary’s hands itched to trace the shape of her long lean legs, and feel them wrapped around her waist, she and her husband shared a wonderfully satisfying evening exploring her thoughts in detail. And in retrospect, maybe she should have been worried because, after all, she did have to work with this woman and desire does tend to get out of control. Not to mention, very distracting. But it wasn’t until Mary’s fantasies started expanding to focus on the parts of Kyra she had never seen; her toned ass and the most intimate place between her thighs, that she started to become slightly uneasy. And when she had zoned out during a table reading, caught up in an image of Kyra splayed on the table screaming Mary’s name in orgasm, she began feeling unnerved. When she found herself unable to meet Kyra’s eyes unless they were in front of a camera, she knew she was in over her head with all this. And when she began to lay awake nights imagining making love to the other woman, in Technicolor detail complete with moans and screams and cries, she didn’t tell her husband. When she started concocting wild scenarios that would allow her to be with Kyra, just for one night, when they would explore each other and make each other come like neither of them ever had before falling asleep tangled up in a pile of sweaty limbs, she realized she had completely lost control. And when she went to youtube to watch the scene from some movie where Kyra was naked in a bathtub, the weight of her guilt nearly crushed her. Her mouth had watered upon seeing the beautiful woman’s stiffened nipple poking up above the water.  
Mary’s harmless erotic fantasies had completely derailed, growing into something she couldn’t contain. The blonde’s scent had been hardwired into the short circuiting electrodes of her brain and every time she was close enough to inhale it, that god awful need pulsed through her, alighting her body and soaking her panties. Kyra would feel so good, Mary knew this; her breasts would feel so incredible cupped in her palms, heavy and pliant, and her hips would fit perfectly against Mary’s own, if she ever shoved Kyra up against a wall and took her mouth in the kiss she could practically taste on her lips.  
So when the director told them to take twenty and Mary shut her trailer door against the onslaught of desire and frustration, it was no surprise to her that she was breathing heavily and her chest was flushed. “Oh that woman” flits through her mind and she almost sobs at the irony of it all. Mary practically rips the buttons from her blouse, desperately unbuttoning it and tearing it away from her overheated skin. She rests her hands on the vanity and takes several deep, calming breaths. She lifts her head and brushes her hair out of her face, studying her reflection in the mirror. She is clearly exhilarated and hot, but she is also, well, pretty. Color is high on her cheeks, her eyes are dilated and her skin is practically glowing. The sleeveless top molds to her breasts and reveals the slightest hint of peaked nipples. Her arms, stretched out before her like this, display the slightest muscle definition and Mary briefly thinks unrequited sexual desire looks good on her. She bites her lip and sighs. She knows she shouldn’t, it’s inappropriate, she doesn’t have enough time, there are all these people milling about, she’ll ruin her hair. But she also knows she will. She has every night since she started lusting after her costar and she certainly isn’t going to stop now.  
Mary cups her own breasts. She bears their familiar weight in her palms and squeezes lightly. She begins a slow, gentle massage, sighing softly. She pulls her top over her head and easily unclasps her bra, letting it fall. She reaches back up to stroke over her chest and captures her nipples between thumbs and forefingers. She watches herself pinch and roll lightly before cupping and squeezing again. Normally, Mary would spend more time playing with her nipples and caressing her sensitive mounds, but time is the one thing she doesn’t have so with a light blush she eases her hand down her stomach, scratching lightly at her skin. She fingers the edge of her skirt and thinks of Kyra as she was today, vibrant, dynamic and sexy. Her eyes flutter shut and she easily conjures an image of Kyra’s full lips, tracing her jawline and collarbone before dipping down to suck at an erect nipple. The blonde would flick the bud with her tongue before laving it. The fire in her eyes as they battled through take after take, rising emotion that in this moment Mary imagines to be all directed at her, at the parts of her body on display. Her hand becomes Kyra’s, smaller and soft, with longer nails. She scratches Mary’s belly before reaching to the zipper of her skirt. The blonde’s breasts would rub against hers, lighting her up, as Kyra divested her of her skirt. That teasing hand would immediately reach to cup her and oh. Mary’s knees buckle and she nearly falls as her fingers are coated in impossibly thick arousal, soaked even through her underwear and hot. “Gods,” she whispers into the stillness of her trailer and she is stumbling to her couch, shimmying out of her underwear and tumbling down onto the fabric, the leather sticky against her sweat-slickened bare skin. She spreads her legs immediately, plunging her fingers into the ocean of desire awaiting her and reaching her hand up to mold to her breast. “Oh, yes.” Kyra wouldn’t wait, wouldn’t make her wait, not the first time. The beautiful blonde would straddle her hips, painting Mary’s lower belly with her own arousal, and push inside of her. She would reach deep into Mary’s body and expertly stroke that spot with a single crooked finger. She would moan at the feeling of Mary’s tight heat enveloping her and lean down to kiss the woman as she joined them.  
‘So good,’ she would whisper against Mary’s mouth and Mary feels the words reverberate in her ears. She realizes she has spoken aloud, whispered her self-praise as she slid a finger inside of herself. Her hips buck against the feeling and she immediately adds a second finger, slipping it inside of herself easily. Kyra would begin a rhythmic thrusting, dragging long fingers against sensitive inner walls and Mary pumps her fingers hard, curling them. She pinches her nipple just as hard as Kyra would nip at it and gasps, crying her out pleasure. She knows she should be quiet but as her hips undulate against the pressure of her thrusts, she can’t help but moan out loud. Kyra’s thumb, her thumb, settles over her clit and rubs in firm circles and Mary is crying out a litany of pleas. She registers her voice but can’t stop it, her words spurring Dream Kyra to rock against her and thrust harder.  
“Oh, gods, yes, yes, yes, please. Oh!” Her hips writhe and shift and it’s almost enough but just not quite. “Fuck. More! More, uh, oh yes…”  
‘More, baby?’ Dream Kyra asks and Mary whimpers in desperation. The third finger that Dream Kyra pushes inside of her burns so good, stretching her and opening her and she would cling to the younger woman’s rolling body, holding her slim hips.  
“Yes! Yes, yes, oh!” And her body is clenching tightly against her thrusting fingers, her clit swelling against her thumb. “Oh, Kyra.” She shudders as her body registers her mouth crying out Kyra’s name in her pleasure. “Ohhh, Kyra baby please.” A flood of moisture meets her palm as she grinds it against her clit, Kyra’s name bringing her to the edge of the precipice, her sex spasming as Dream Kyra moans in delight at her wanton display. Her hips rise off the bed to meet her increasingly deep thrusts and she’s just there…so close...Dream Kyra is clutching her hand, holding it tightly.  
“That’s it, beautiful.” Dream Kyra urges softly. “Let go. Come for me.” With a final stroke against her clit, Mary shatters, screaming Kyra’s name and clenching tightly around her fingers. Her hips thrust up and roll with the contractions of her sex, fingers stilled deep inside of her body, pressing against her ridged wall. She is suspended in the arch of ecstasy, panting and moaning and her climax rips through her, setting every oversensitized nerve aflame.  
Mary’s body collapses, boneless, back down and she floats leisurely back to Earth, thrumming with the adrenaline of her release. Her body is singing with aftershocks of pleasure and she murmurs and sighs softly as she surrenders to the relief. Dream Kyra is brushing sweaty hair out of her face and her breath is warm against Mary’s neck. Her breath comes in pants against her damp skin and she feels it puff-  
The realization comes at once slowly and at once in a single moment. The words “come for me,” the words she actually heard, echo in her ears and she shoots up from her supine position. Futilely, she reaches to cover herself with her hands and shifts her body away from where Kyra is kneeling by the couch, as if burned by the other woman’s presence. “Oh my GOD!” It is the closest thing to a shriek Mary has ever emitted and Kyra’s eyes go wide and she scrambles up to stand.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just-” But Mary isn’t listening to her, she is vaulting up and stumbling on shaky legs to her closet where she grabs at whatever hangers are in front of her. She is cursing and pulling a robe over her nakedness, belting it firmly before she turns to Kyra. Her eyes are comically wide and her hand clamps over her mouth.  
“What the, what the hell are you doing in here? How long were you in here?” The hysterical tone to Mary’s demand would have been funny had her eyes not been welling with tears. Kyra looks stricken.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she trails off helplessly. “I didn’t mean to…see you. You weren’t answering your door, I wanted to talk about the scene. I’m sorry, I shouldn’ta come in but I…you were so…” Her shoulders slump, defeated. “I’m so sorry.” The magnitude of the situation is slowly descending on Mary and she finds herself shifting from blind panic to sickening dread. Kyra just watched her masturbate, Kyra saw her come. Kyra saw her undone and wanton with three fingers buried deep inside of herself, calling out the other woman’s name. The intimacy of it is horrifying. Mary pulls her robe tighter around herself and holds it closed, suddenly struck by a feeling of exposure and humiliation so acute she thinks she might be sick.  
“I…I’m not…” Mary flounders helplessly because despite her affinity for words, there is absolutely nothing to say in this situation. There is no possible way for her to explain herself and she realizes immediately that not only has she lost a friend and valued co-worker, she has lost her dignity and her respect as well. “I don’t…”  
Kyra’s heart clenches at the sight of a lone tear trailing down Mary’s cheek and breaks in half as a choked sob bubbles from the older woman’s throat. Her hand is firmly clamped over her mouth again, muffling the sound of her burgeoning sobs and more tears lay tracks down her face. Kyra’s heart demands that she comfort her friend, awkwardness be damned, and she rushes to the other woman’s side, rubbing soothing circles on her back. It is like a knife twisting in her gut to see Mary fighting tears like this, composure slipping away.  
“Oh honey,” she cooes softly, stroking Mary’s hair and reaching a hand up to grasp at Mary’s fingers. “It’s okay,” she soothes softly. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Everybody does it.” Kyra is oddly struck by an image of her mother saying those same things to her, through her closed door, after walking in on a teenaged Kyra self servicing in her bathtub. “And I’m so sorry.” Her tone is contrite. “I shouldn’t have walked in on you, I shouldn’t have stayed when I realized what you were doing. That was a huge violation of your privacy but I…” Mary is not calming down, her body still shaking with silent sobs and Kyra is hard pressed to think of a way this could get worse so she decides to go for broke. “I heard you say my name. You were thinking about me. Like I think about you. And I couldn’t walk away. I’m sorry, I should have, but I just couldn’t. Not when you were so beautiful laid out like that. And so close.” Mary has completely stopped crying, body frozen completely still. Kyra’s voice has become increasingly husky and it is practically a growl now, caressing Mary’s ears. “You were so close.” She continues. “And you said my name. You were wanting me and I…I had to share that moment with you. I had to watch you come.”  
Mary bites her lip against the arousal swelling inside of her again. It seems impossible, that she could be turned on again so quickly, but Kyra is looking at her like she’s hungry and Mary’s body clenches in response. Kyra moves slowly towards her, as if frightened Mary will startle and run away from her. Even if she had wanted to, she finds herself rooted to her spot by the weight of Kyra’s desire-filled eyes. Slowly, Kyra reaches a hand out to finger the tie of Mary’s robe.  
“I like this on you,” she says softly and reaches down to caress the hem of the robe where it lands mid thigh, knuckles tantalizingly grazing Mary’s flesh. “Not as much as I like the one you wore in ‘Battlestar Galactica’, but I like it.” Kyra’s lower lip is caught between her teeth and she is studying the revealed skin of Mary’s thigh with determined intensity. She lightly caresses that patch of skin for long moments and Mary stands stock still, barely breathing as she focuses on the tender touch. Kyra’s eyes meet hers and it is clear the younger woman is waiting for her to speak, but she can’t. She opens her mouth but finds she can’t force any words past her lips. She is too shocked by the feel of Kyra’s hand on her skin, too surprised by the other woman’s evident reciprocal want for her.  
Kyra’s hand returns to the tie of Mary’s robe and with a swift flick of her wrist and a soft tug, the material falls apart, revealing teasing bits of Mary’s skin, still flushed from her orgasm. “Of course,” Kyra continues, “I think I like you best in nothing at all.” She trails her fingertips up Mary’s body, lightly caressing her stomach and between her breasts, her collarbones and then her throat. Her eyes follow heatedly and when they connect with Mary’s own, the older woman’s are almost comically wide. “You’re beautiful.” Kyra husks and her voice is impossibly deep. Her fingers find their way into Mary’s hair and wind themselves in her soft, silky tresses, squeezing gently.  
“Thank you.” Mary finally chokes out, her voice strangled.  
“I knew you would be,” Kyra continues as if Mary hasn’t even spoken. “But this surpasses anything I imagined.” She lets Mary’s hair fall from her fingers and brings her hands to the shoulders of Mary’s robe and gathers the fabric. She looks directly into the other woman’s eyes. “May I?” Slowly, Mary nods, struck dumb by the idea that Kyra imagined her naked, and feels the goosebumps on her skin as the robe falls from her body, baring all of her to Kyra. Kyra’s eyes instantly trace her and she licks her lips, humming softly. “Beautiful,” she whispers as she brings her hands to rest on the curves of Mary’s hips, fingers splayed over as much of the older woman as she can reach. She rubs gently, giving Mary a chance to snap out of her trance and tell her to stop, but she remains paralyzed. When no objection comes, Kyra drags her palms up Mary’s body, feeling the soft swell of her belly and the remarkably toned stomach; she cups full, round breasts and lets her thumbs drag over pebbled nipples. Mary gasps as she hardens further under Kyra’s soft, knowing strokes, but doesn’t stop her, just ever so slightly arches her back, pushing her breasts further into Kyra’s hands. “Feels good?” Kyra asks, squeezing gently and starting a slow massage.  
“So good,” Mary whispers, watching Kyra’s pale hands knead her firm flesh.  
“I love these.” Kyra informs Mary. “They’re so gorgeous, so full and firm. They’re bigger than I thought.” She comments idly, capturing Mary’s hardened nipples between her thumb and forefinger and pinching lightly. Mary groans and squeezes her thighs together, impossibly wet just from Kyra’s warm husky voice and a few touches. “Mmm,” Kyra murmurs appreciatively. “And sensitive, too. I always wonder about that; if you like to be touched here as much as I do. How good I could make you feel from touching these.” Without warning Kyra drops her head and suckles Mary’s stiffened nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the excited bud. Mary gasps and then moans helplessly, fisting her hands in Kyra’s long hair and clutching her head to her breast. Kyra doesn’t seem to mind, just suckles harder before dragging her tongue against the sensitive skin of Mary’s chest before latching onto her other nipple, sucking firmer and flicking lightly with her tongue. She bites down ever so slightly and the nip of teeth has Mary’s knees threatening to give out.  
“Wait!” She manages rasp between sighs and hums of pleasure. She drags Kyra’s head away from her. “Wait, wait, what are you doing? We can’t do this.” Kyra obligingly releases Mary’s nipple from between her lips and steps away, looking her square in the eyes for long moments.  
“Why?” She asks simply. The question shouldn’t surprise Mary, knowing Kyra as well as she has come to, but it does.  
“I’m married.” Mary says and with a sweep of her arm she asserts, “you’re married.” Kyra hums in acknowledgment. When it’s clear she isn’t going to speak, Mary goes on. “It’s wrong.”  
“Maybe it is.” Kyra agrees. “But it doesn’t stop you from thinking about me when you touch yourself and it doesn’t stop me from staring at you too much and imagining all the wicked, wonderful things I want to do to your body.” Mary bites her lip against her whimper.  
“We work together.” Mary insists.  
Kyra snorts. “Clearly not very well, if today is any indication.” Mary opens her mouth to object to that, to remind her of the dozens upon dozens of scenes they’ve done so beautifully together. “Not when we’re supposed to be adversaries and you’re looking at me the entire scene like you want to rip the buttons off my blazer and fuck me against the wall.” Mary’s jaw goes slack because that is exactly what she had been- “Not when I have to film it looking like a damn robot to stop myself from just reaching up under your skirt to take you right there, right on camera so it can record me making you come like you never have before.” Mary’s mouth forms an “o” because yes, her body cries out. Yes please.  
Kyra’s hand clasps her hip again and before she can even open her mouth to continue, Mary’s tongue is between her lips, searching out every secret of the younger woman’s mouth and stroking her tongue, rough and demanding. Mary grabs Kyra’s face in her palms and holds the younger woman to her, pressing her nude body against Kyra’s Brenda clothes and when she feels the younger woman’s nails rake her back she moans into her mouth, her body shuddering. Mary reaches to undo Kyra’s ponytail and lets the blonde waves fall over her shoulders before making quick work of the buttons of her jacket. She wants to rip them, but knows she wouldn’t be able to explain that to wardrobe later, so she settles for urging Kyra out of it and quickly pulling the tank she is wearing underneath it over her head, allowing ample breasts to spill free and press against her own. Kyra unzips her own skirt, wiggling out of it and Mary frantically pushes her panties over her hips, desperate to feel all of Kyra against her. Mary pulls away from their heated kiss with a gasp as she lets her eyes travel over the body revealed to her. Kyra is even more incredible than her fantasies; her breasts sit high and proud on her chest and Mary briefly thinks there is no way they can possibly be real. But her thoughts derail as she watches the wine colored nipples stiffen under her gaze. Kyra just stands there and lets her look her fill. Kyra is impossibly fit and toned, her abdomen flat and firm and her legs muscled from running. She is completely shaved between her lean thighs and Mary bites her lip as she studies what she can of Kyra’s bare mound and just the hint of pink lips beneath the silky soft looking flesh.  
Kyra gets bored quickly of remaining still as Mary’s eyes devour her and she stalks towards her, joining their lips once again in another passionate kiss. “Like what you see?” She mumbles between kisses, licking at Mary’s full lower lip. Mary captures her tongue between her lips and sucks.  
“Yes.” She whispers, husky voice even huskier in her arousal. “You’re gorgeous. Perfect.” Kyra easily pushes Mary onto the couch she had vaulted from mere minutes before and urges her to lay down in the position Kyra found her in. Mary’s green eyes flash a smoldering look at Kyra before following her wordless command and laying back. Kyra strokes Mary’s stomach lightly, trailing her fingers down to tickle at the trimmed curls between her legs and bringing her other hand up to cup and fondle her breast.  
“What did I do?” Kyra asks. “In your fantasy, what did I do?” Mary’s eyes go wide, a light blush dusting her cheeks at both being reminded of what Kyra witnessed and the thought of describing what she had been thinking about. “Hmmm?” Kyra prompts, lowering herself to her knees beside the couch and nuzzling Mary’s neck. She nibbles lightly just beneath her ear and Mary shudders.  
“You,” Mary swallows against her dry throat. “You kissed me right there.” Kyra nips at her earlobe before resuming her suckling kisses.  
“What else?”  
Mary can’t seem to stop the words that begin to tumble from her lips. The thought of sharing her deepest fantasies about Kyra with the other woman both terrifies and exhilarates her. The thought that Kyra might act some of them out with her makes her body twist in anticipation. “You were inside of me, fucking me with your fingers.” Kyra moans in appreciation and drags one finger through Mary’s soaking folds, slipping through thick moisture and tracing the shape of her opening. She dips it ever so slightly inside before bringing it to circle Mary’s throbbing clit.  
“How many fingers, baby?” Kyra prompts, another finger joining the first in rubbing against Mary’s swollen sex, coating themselves in her arousal.  
“Oh! Mmm, two. Just two at first.” Mary’s hips shift against the gentle pressure of Kyra’s fingers at her entrance and her thighs fall open, urging the younger woman to take her. Finally finally Kyra is pressing inside of her, entering her with two long fingers and stimulating the still sensitive walls. Kyra probes deeply inside of Mary’s spasming body and gently crooks her fingers, seamlessly stroking that spot inside Mary that never fails to make her come undone and moaning in approval at the tight heat surrounding her.  
“Like this?” Kyra asks, thrusting lightly inside of Mary’s body.  
“Ohhh, yes! Yes, just like that.” Kyra clenches her thighs together, because damn if that isn’t the sexiest thing she has ever heard; Mary telling her how she likes it. The older woman’s voice is crushed velvet when she is aroused like this and Kyra is desperate to hear more of it.  
“You feel so good inside.” Kyra tells her. “You’re hot and tight squeezing me. So soft, and warm and so very wet. And I know it’s all for me.” Her fingers jab swiftly upwards and Mary screams softly in delight. “Is this how you touch yourself when you imagine it’s me? Do you put your fingers inside yourself and stroke right here?” Kyra crooks her fingers again to rub against that ridged flesh and Mary’s hip buck up to meet her, muscles clenching around Kyra. She is whimpering and moaning and shifting her hips, trying to feel more and Kyra keeps her thrusts achingly light and gentle, pulling completely out of Mary before pressing smoothly and fully back in again.  
“YES!” Mary sobs desperately. “Yes and I rub…I rub…” Words fail her as Kyra scissors her fingers deep inside, the pressure against her inner walls unspeakably delicious.  
“Where do you rub, baby? Here?” Kyra presses against her g spot once more before pressing her thumb just above Mary’s neglected bundle of nerves. “Or here? Do you stroke yourself here?”  
Kyra has learned over the years that nothing turns a woman on like erotic, sensual dirty talk, but she also wants this to be how Mary wants it. The older woman is trusting her, giving Kyra her body and Kyra wants this to be good and wonderful and perfect for her. She kind of adores Mary, maybe more than she should, and she wants to satisfy her. If they’re going to destroy their working relationship, their friendship and possibly one or both of their marriages, the least Kyra can do is give Mary as much pleasure as she can.  
Mary must have noticed her thoughts wander off because she grasps Kyra’s hand in her own and urges her to resume her thrusts and she guides Kyra’s thumb in tight circles over her clit. “Like this.” Mary whispers softly. “I touch myself like this.” She lets her hand rest briefly on Kyra’s over her sex and Kyra is struck by how vulnerable Mary is to her in this moment. Those eyes are completely open and her body is relaxed, all her walls lowered, just for Kyra, and something indefinable rises within the younger woman’s chest as she explores Mary’s most intimate place. She is awed by the trust it must have taken for Mary to let them get to this point, especially after what she witnessed earlier and it occurs to her, oddly enough for the first time, how intimate this is. Mary is teaching her precious secrets about herself. She is suddenly more desperate than she thought possible for the brunette and she leans down to capture her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. She stares into Mary’s eyes.  
“Good?” Kyra asks, never ceasing the movements of her fingers. Mary’s eyes flutter shut at a particularly deep thrust of Kyra’s fingers and a gush of moisture meets her palm. She manages to nod before succumbing to the moan bubbling in her throat. “You used three.” Kyra whispers. “Three fingers.” She clarified. Mary moans softly and her body contracts in response. “When did I…do that?” Kyra asks. “Did you…trust me? To do that for you? To know when you were ready for that?”  
“Yes,” Mary whispers, hips rolling slightly against Kyra’s fingers. “So good…” she moans, rocking against Kyra’s thrusts. Mary cannot believe how close she is, again, and how soon. Kyra brings another finger to tease at her opening, giving her a chance to say no, before pressing the tip lightly inside of her. When Mary moans in approval and spreads her legs wider, Kyra presses a third finger inside, moaning in delight as Mary’s tight body accepts her.  
Mary cries out at the welcome intrusion; Kyra’s fingers are slimmer than her own but they are longer and the slighter stretch is purely delicious. Kyra rubs firmer circles on Mary’s clit and scrapes it lightly with her nail.  
“Kyra!” Mary cries out and Kyra nips at her neck.  
“I’m right here,” she whispers, sucking Mary’s pulse point. “That’s it, baby.” Kyra urges her on and Mary feels the waves of pleasure start to crest deep within her. She feels so heavy and full and knows she is close. Sharp stabs of pleasure sing against her clit every time Kyra’s fingers thrust inside of her. She grabs Kyra’s arm, anchoring herself to the younger woman and lets her orgasm wash over her. She allows herself to let go and screams out her pleasure, and Kyra’s name, when she releases. Mary rides out her release with desperate thrusts of her hips and deep pulsing contractions against Kyra’s fingers, stroking gentler inside her now.  
Mary is lost in a haze of ecstasy, her body thrumming with its pleasure and Kyra is whispering sweet, soothing words in her ear, easing her down from her climax. Long moments later, her eyelids flutter open as she reacquaints herself with her surroundings. To her surprise, and pleasure, Kyra is still nestled inside of her, just two fingers now and unmoving, letting Mary’s body contract around her, sending pleasurable aftershocks zinging through her sensitized skin. Her thumb is barely brushing against her clit, just enough to make her moan languidly at the light sensation. Kyra murmurs wordlessly into her ear.  
“You’re a goddess when you come.” From anybody else it would have sounded trite, but coming from Kyra Mary found it incredibly sweet. She reaches up with a heavy hand and draws Kyra’s mouth to hers, sharing a tender kiss. She hums against the younger woman’s lips.  
“There’s more to my fantasy.” She whispers, tugging at Kyra’s lower lip with her teeth before soothing it with her tongue. Kyra’s lips quirk up in a smirk.  
“Oh really?” She briefly scissors her fingers inside Mary. Mary’s walls tighten against the stimulation but she shakes her head, urging Kyra to pull her fingers from her body. She is momentarily bereft in their absence, but she quickly urges Kyra up from her position on the floor and pulls her down to straddle Mary’s body.  
“Really.” Mary affirms, holding Kyra by her hips and tracing nonsense patterns on the other woman’s skin. She smiles to herself as she feels how wet Kyra is, feels her arousal on the cooling skin of her stomach. She strokes Kyra’s flat abdomen and slowly lowers her fingers to the bare skin of her pubis. Kyra shifts, rising slightly on her knees to allow Mary better access and Mary immediately cups her. All of her fantasies pale in comparison to the feel of liquid heat and silken flesh against her palm. Kyra shifts her hips against Mary’s hand, settling herself more firmly and reaches down to caress Mary’s breasts. Mary trails her fingers through slick folds and feels puffy outer lips open to her touch. She caresses them lightly, learning Kyra and exciting the sensitive nerve endings.  
“You don’t have to, you know.” Kyra whispers, startling her out of reverie. “This was about your fantasy. You don’t have to do anything for me.” Mary just gazes up at Kyra.  
“Doing this for you is my fantasy.” It’s the sweetest thing Kyra has ever heard and she reaches to stroke Mary’s cheek. This woman will break me one day, she thinks idly, before surrendering herself to the feel of Mary’s fingers teasing and tracing her.  
Mary rubs the aching nub at the top of her sex and Kyra shifts again, rolling her hips towards the tender touches. She watches, enraptured, as Mary explores her, Mary’s own eyes focused on Kyra’s sex and her own fingers caressing it. Mary looks up at Kyra to see the younger woman perched on her stomach, hips rocking, hair spilling over her breasts and a trickle of sweat running down her neck. She is the most beautiful thing Mary has ever seen and she aches to give to her. She watches Kyra watch her, the younger woman focused solely on where her hand is stimulating her. Mary presses firmly down on her clit, shocking Kyra’s eyes to her face. “Come up here.” She whispers and Kyra’s brow furrows in confusion. With a soft smile, Mary reaches for her thighs and tugs them lightly. “Come up here,” she repeats. Kyra immediately flushes with arousal, but doesn’t move.  
“Are you sure?” She asks. Mary narrows her eyes.  
“Kyra.” She states firmly and it is so similar to how she says “Chief” in that clipped Captain Raydor tone of hers that Kyra can’t help but shiver in arousal. The things that voice does to her… “I am very sure. I want to.” Her voice softens. “Please let me.” With a shuddering breath, Kyra nods. She shifts up Mary’s body and Mary’s hands on her ass guide her the rest of the way, settling Kyra above her. Kyra briefly considers telling Mary she has never done it like this before, but finds herself robbed of words as Mary wraps her hands around her thighs and drags her down to meet her mouth. At first, she just presses light kisses to Kyra’s folds and strokes her thighs with her fingertips. When she feels the younger woman relax above her, she slides her tongue between her folds and gives her one slow, luxurious lick, savoring her tangy flavor. She hums softly against Kyra, expressing her delight, and points her tongue to trace a circle around Kyra’s swollen clit. She flicks the button lightly before suckling a labia into her mouth. It has been decades since Mary has done this, but as Kyra’s hips shift above her and her juices coat her tongue, she finds she remembers exactly how to love a woman this way and applies herself to pleasing Kyra. She pushes her tongue inside and Kyra’s walls immediately grip her searching muscle. She licks firmly and nudges Kyra’s clit with her nose. She drags her tongue along sensitive inner walls and gathers all the moisture she can, Kyra’s musky flavor exploding on her tongue. She swallows her juices and licks at her again, tracing the whole of her sex with her tongue before pressing a light kiss to her bundle of nerves.  
“You taste so good, darling.” She assures her lover and Kyra whimpers above her. Kyra’s eyes had been squeezed tightly shut as Mary licked her but she pried them open now, gazing down at what of Mary’s face she could see and she relaxed at the look of pleasure, sincerity and desire in Mary’s gorgeous eyes. She relaxes her death grip on the couch and reaches to caress Mary’s cheek, stroking her hair. She idly marvels at how sexy and in control Mary can seem even when Kyra is straddling her face and the thought pulses deep in her sex. She feels her arousal start to trickle out of her and Mary quickly laps at her opening, gathering the fluid and humming as she swallows again, unashamedly, never breaking eye contact with Kyra. Kyra whimpers and shifts her hips, desperately trying not to grind against Mary’s face. She flushes in embarrassment and contorts her face in a wordless apology.  
“No.” Mary says, stroking her hip. “It’s beautiful. I like that I make you wet like that. I like that I turn you on.” Kyra makes a noise in the back of her throat at the understatement of the century and with an impish grin, Mary brings her mouth back to Kyra’s sex. She sucks Kyra into her mouth, teasing just inside her opening with her tongue, applying steady pressure, and Kyra moans in pleasure. Her hips start to writhe against Mary’s mouth and Mary rewards her with deep thrusts of her tongue. Kyra’s hand never moves from her head, never forcing or pushing, just stroking lightly, supporting her neck. Sticky fluid meets her tongue and Mary savors the evidence of Kyra’s pleasure as she licks and tastes her. When Kyra’s hips start to thrust against her mouth, she replaces her mouth with her fingers, pressing two immediately and deeply into Kyra’s clenching body. She groans against the younger woman’s sex as the moist heat envelops her, pulling her deeper inside. Kyra is impossibly wet, so tight and warmer than anything she has ever felt. She is molten lava against her fingers and Mary crooks her fingers expertly, finding her spot immediately and dragging a keening cry from Kyra. She fastens her lips around Kyra’s clit and sucks, drawing the bead into her mouth and laving it with smooth firm licks. She times her sucks with the thrusts of her fingers and she feels Kyra begin to come apart. The younger woman’s hips move against her mouth and Kyra is moaning and crying out, verbalizing her pleasure in the most delicious of ways.  
“Please, please, please!” Her cries reach Mary’s ears and she sucks her firmer, harder, takes more of her into her mouth and twists her fingers deeply inside of her, molding them to the contours of her body. “Oh god,” Kyra whimpers. “So good, that’s so good. Mary, oh! Mmm, oh yes, mmmm, God fuck yes. Mary, baby. Fuck!” She screams as Mary brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside her. Mary presses her fingers against that spot, strokes it gently, and Kyra is shattering, screaming Mary’s name and coming almost too hard, her hips writhing and twisting and her thighs shaking with the strain of supporting her body.  
Mary is lapping lightly at Kyra when she comes back to herself, licking her clean and every so often flicking her clit, teasing the last of the aftershocks from her orgasm. Kyra drags a hand through her hair and exhales the breath she didn’t know she had been holding.  
“Fuck.” She murmurs, smoothing her hand over her chest and experimentally flexing her thigh muscles to see if they can hold her weight. Mary is still licking at her sex, still caressing her thigh and every contact makes her twitch and shiver. She drags herself away, Mary following the heady aroma of her briefly before she realizes Kyra is taking herself away and blinks up at her. “Sensitive.” Kyra explains and Mary just licks her lips. Kyra feels an answering contraction in her sex and whimpers. Mary raises her eyebrow and then Kyra laughs. It is a full, joyful sound and her smile is the brightest Mary has ever seen it, lighting up her face and flushing her cheeks with color. Mary can’t help but smile back, her own face alight with joy and Kyra leans down to kiss her, moaning when she tastes her own familiar flavor on Mary’s mouth. She searches for it in Mary’s mouth and Mary lets her guide the sweet kiss. Kyra cups Mary’s face in her hands and strokes her cheekbones lightly.  
“You’re amazing,” She whispers, looking into the other woman’s brightened green eyes.  
“You’re incredible yourself.” Mary hums, sneaking a quick kiss and then nuzzling into Kyra’s neck.  
“As good as your fantasy?” Kyra teases and Mary playfully squeezes her hip.  
“Way better.” She acknowledges, hands trailing lightly over Kyra’s silky skin. “But, you know, this wasn’t the only fantasy I’ve had.” Her voice is light, conversational, but as Kyra meets her eyes she sees the hope Mary is desperately trying to hide and the vulnerability she can’t quite conceal. She is pleading, Kyra realizes, pleading to not be left out on this ledge alone and the blonde kisses her firmly.  
“Is that so?” She kisses her again. “Well, you’ll just have to tell me all about the rest of these fantasies of yours. And, as it happens,” Kyra smirks devilishly. “I have one or two of my own as well.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticisms requested and welcomed!


End file.
